


Love and War /Sex and Death

by QSF



Category: Kamen Rider Ryuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QSF/pseuds/QSF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sometimes serious, sometimes silly, most of the time very dirty look into the world of Kamen Rider Ryuki and the various characters there. Honestly, this is about sex and humor more than anything else, prompted by certain people on tumbler being awesome with their terrible ships. Also know as 'What if Kamen Rider Ryuki was more like a sleazy sex-filled sitcom'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere between episode 10 and 12.
> 
> \---

It was harder to hate Shinji Kido than Ren Akiyama had been prepared for. At least when he was asleep.

When he was awake, he didn’t have the same problem. Even disregarding the slowly dying suspicion that Kido was getting close to Yui as part of some sort of sinister plot, the man was just plain annoying. In his face, all the time, too loud, too naive, too demanding. Don’t do this. Be nice. Don’t fight. Don’t kill. Don’t win. As if he had any idea what he was asking.

Did Kido really think that the other riders would retire their game just because he asked them nicely? Had he even considered that some people might have good reasons to bet their lives on this fight? Probably not. It was a game to him.

Kido had never spent days in a hospital chair, waiting for eyes that would never open. He had never reached out to touch someone that didn’t respond, only the faint beeping of machines reassuring him that there was still life in Eri’s body. Somewhere. His fault. Somehow. And not fighting meant giving that up. It meant surrendering what hope he had left.

And he wouldn’t do that. And it was none of Kido’s business why either. Besides, the ignorance and the questions made it easy to stay angry.

Not like now.

In the dead of night. In the same small room. Two beds with just enough space between them to be separate. Kido sprawled bonelessly on the bed, sleeping like the dead, mouth open. Snoring. Loudly.

In retrospect, throwing the pillow had been a mistake. All that had happened was that Kido has now claimed it as his own, the snoring muted for a moment before resuming unabated.

It should be easy to hate him still. He slept too soundly. He didn’t have nightmares. Not that Ren had nightmares. Much. He just had a hard time breathing at times. But that was the room. Too small. Not enough air. Too hot.

In retrospect, covering Kido’s mouth with his hand had been an even bigger mistake. The snoring had quieted down, but now he felt the hot breath against his palm. The way the mouth moved a little in response to his touch. Not a kiss. Just a reflex. But at least it was quiet now and he could think. Except that he had no time for it, because those long lashes fluttered open and it took him a moment to realize that the twitching under his hand had been Kido waking up.

Ren yanked his hand back as if it had been bitten.

"Ren?" The mumble was sleepy, Kido easing himself up on one elbow with the boneless sanguinity of the very tired. "Are you alright?"

"You were snoring." Ren felt his back go ramrod straight, but it didn’t change the fact that he was kneeling next to Shinji Kido’s bed, the other man looking at him with a mixture of confusion and sleepiness. "Loudly," he added, as if that would explain everything.

"Well, soorree…" The excuse mingled with a yawn, and Ren wasn’t sure if it had been supposed to sound as sarcastic as it did. "Sometimes I snore."

"Just stop." Pulling back would have meant admitting that there was something wrong with sitting this close, so Ren remained where he was.

"It’s not that easy…" Kido’s voice got that familiar tone of complaining that normally set Ren’s teeth on edge, but somehow the slight sleepy slurring made it more tolerable. "I always snore on my back. And I always sleep on my back if I don’t curl up to someone."

"Well, I can’t sleep." Was that pout meant to be a smile? Ren tried to figure out how Kido’s face worked, but didn’t have time before a hand grabbed his arm and he found himself busy fending off being pulled into the bed.

"Stop struggling and come up here then," Kido admonished, and to his surprise Ren obeyed.

Maybe it was the fact that Kido was still obviously half asleep and not in any condition to use this against him in some way. Maybe it was the fact that he desperately needed sleep and hadn’t got any in days. Maybe it was the fact that this was the logical thing to do. The bed was big enough when Kido scooted over towards the wall. Big enough for two.

Still. Ren promised himself that he’d pretend this had never happened in the morning, even if Kido somehow remembered. He hoped he wouldn’t. He was already fast asleep after all, rolled over on his side, one arm carelessly flung over Ren’s waist. Not an embrace. Not pressed close. Just next to him without a care in the world. Not snoring.

Just snoozing. Small, shallow breaths. Comforting in a way.

Maybe that’s why he stayed in bed. Maybe that’s why he let himself drift off to sleep. Because for all of Kido’s considerable annoying qualities, he reminded him of Eri. Far too much.

How Kido managed to get out of bed in the morning without waking him he would never know.


	2. The walls come tumbling down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between #23 and #26, when Shinji is trying to change Asakura.

The sunset was reflected in the broken window, mixing with the shadows of the mirror world until it seemed almost beautiful. But Shinji wasn’t fooled, he held on tighter to his deck, despite Asakura trying to snatch it from his hands. It wasn’t a fight, not really, at least not if you didn’t count a kitten in the paws of a Doberman as fighting.

"No, you ridiculous snake, that’s not even remotely feasible!" Shinji tried to push Asakura away, which only led to him performing some sort of awkward dance against the taller man, causing the dangerous glint in Asakura’s eyes to shift into something more languid but no less dangerous.

"You can’t give me a fight out here, but you’re not half bad for working my shit out on in there." But the scarred hands had shifted target, the rider deck forgotten in favor of easing themselves up under Shinji’s sweater.

"We are not fighting, besides, I’m pretty sure your snake wants to eat me." Shinji managed to put the deck back in the pocket of his jacket before it was peeled off and tossed carelessly on the floor of the ruined building where Asakura had taken up residence. Or was squatting really.

"Hmh, well…" Asakura growled softly as Shinji’s sweater went the same way as the jacket, causing the shorter journalist to gasp. "… -I- want to eat you."

"Well, -I- want a bed." Shinji was aware that he was probably playing hard to get, which was probably really stupid considering that Asakura was palming him through his jeans and had to be well aware exactly how little he needed a bed right now, but damnit, a man should have standards. Of course if he had standards he wouldn’t be here, being undressed by an escaped, violent criminal. Or at the very least, shouldn’t find it so damn hot.

"Tough luck." Asakura had undone his belt and slid Shinji’s jeans and underwear down in one quick jerk, leaving them pooled around his ankles.

"You’re a terrible man!" But there was little that Shinji could do except lean back against the wall as Asakura sunk to his knees in front of him.

It shouldn’t be this ridiculously hot. Asakura shouldn’t be this sexy, looking up at him with that dangerous smile. He certainly shouldn’t feel his cock stir with the heady mixture of fear and trust that it always meant to let Asakura have his way with him. Not like he had any notions of being able to control this thing they had anymore. Maybe he had at the start, maybe he had thought that maybe if they just got talking instead of fighting they could work something out.

Well, he supposed that they had.

"Oh god…" Shinji felt a string of approving nonsense words escape his mouth as Asakura took him in his mouth, hot, warm, and with a hint of teeth every time he smiled. Too hot. Dangerously hot. He had never expected the other rider to go down on him like this. Nor had he expected Asakura to be this good at it or maybe it was the fact that the other man was as likely to bite him as suck him off that made some terrible, horrible parts of his brain rear up and take notice. Was he getting off on the danger? Was this the same reason he had accepted that rider deck even though he had no idea what he was getting into?

Maybe. Probably. Or maybe he just had a weakness for terrible men in snakeskin jackets, or rude ones in awesome leather coats, or sleazy lawyers and god, how did Asakura even manage to deep-throat him like that? And why was he loving it enough to risk ruining everything by bringing his hands up to run through that deceptively soft, bleached hair, even though he knew that his hands would get beaten away, and it wouldn’t have been too bad except he had to brace himself against the wall instead, and the wall was cracked, and his shifting made it crack more and…

… the wall came tumbling down. It still wouldn’t have been too bad except that Shinji’s legs were still trapped by his jeans, and he couldn’t move, and suddenly he was falling helplessly, moan turned into a shriek, right into Asakura’s arms.

It was terribly romantic in a way. Shinji mostly naked, cradled against Asakura’s chest, both of them covered by dust and debris. Hot, flushed skin against the cool snakeskin jacket. Strong arms tense and prepared, still not certain whether this had been an accident or an attack. It was terribly romantic and, Shinji had to admit, probably the most romantic they could ever get.

It ended as abruptly as it begun, with Asakura unceremoniously dropping Shinji the last foot or so to the ground, getting to his feet to check whether the roof was in any danger of following the wall. Shinji grit his teeth in annoyance and tried to pull his jeans up, which was harder to do than he liked since he was still hard.

"Couldn’t you at least try to live somewhere that’s not a ruin?" Shinji had got to his feet now as well; jeans mostly up but still unzipped.

"Complaints, complaints, it’s better than an underpass." Asakura gave the other wall a kick to test it, causing Shinji to yelp and cover his head, but the roof remained secure.

"True that," Shinji admitted with a suspicious look at the roof. "You wouldn’t believe the bruises I had. Ren kept asking."

"Oh he did now, did he?" Asakura’s smirk was back in full force now. As always the mention of their fellow rider brought out the predator in full force, and Shinji found himself backed further into the ruined house.

"I kept telling him I had been in a fight, but I don’t think he bought it." Fear. Shinji knew that maybe he should be afraid. That maybe being here was a stupid idea. That maybe Asakura was too unpredictable and maybe he would go too far one day. And yet… "Maybe if the bruises hadn’t been all over my ass." He could feel his pout coming on, could feel the shift in Asakura that signaled sex instead of violence.

"That’s easy to fix." Rough hands on Shinji’s shoulders, turning him around. Asakura’s mouth on his neck, biting down a little bit too hard, leaving too much of a mark. Knowing Ren would ask about that too.

"Hey! I liked your mouth where it was," Shinji complained, though the way Asakura rubbed up against him made his breath hitch and the whine that came out probably did nothing to discourage the taller man as he was walked towards the old couch that had been left behind when the owners moved.

"I like your ass." The hand that cupped it was large, rough, and moved to tug impatiently at the jeans. "Deal with it."

"At least… aaugh!"" Shinji started to whine, but the push made him tumble forward, bracing himself on the couch. Or, well, bracing was a nice term. Being bent over with Asakura pulling down his jeans was a more factual description. At least this time he had enough presence of mind to kick his legs free of the constricting pants.

"At least what?" The words were slightly muffled, and Shinji could all too vividly picture Asakura’s fingers inside his mouth, coating them with saliva.

"Never… mind…" Suddenly his mouth was dry and he sucked in a quick breath as one hand spread him open while a finger eased itself inside. Slick. Too rough. Not too rough to make him moan out load, teasing a chuckle from the man behind him.

"Like that, huh?" The finger continued to make it hard to argue the point, the second one making Shinji whine louder.

"At least get some lube, I have some, in my coat pocket…" The fingers curled inside him, making his knees weak. Slightly too dry, adding an edge of discomfort to the sensation.

"Your coat is under the wall. Suck it up and deal." The words were rough, but they were followed by Asakura pulling the fingers out far enough to spit on them, which Shinji supposed were the closest thing to consideration the other man was capable of showing.

"You’re so gross…" But the saliva had helped, the fingers were slick the next time they pushed inside, and he found himself complaining loudly when they were pulled out. He flinched a little at the sound of Asakura spitting in his hand, slicking himself up.

"Come on, I bought you condoms…" But despite the complaint he didn’t move, even though his erection chafed a bit where it was pressed against the couch.

"Rode you bareback once already."

Certain people never took no for an answer, though Shinji supposed that he never really said no. Just suggested alternative courses of action. Sometimes Asakura took him up on them, sometimes he didn’t. And sometimes he supposed he didn’t protest very hard.

"I…. still…" the heat pressed against him made his complaints turn into a breathless whine for more…. it’s not…" he finally gave up trying to form complete sentences as Asakura pushed inside in one, rough shove.

"Not… what?" The words were whispered in Shinji’s ear as Asakura pulled his head back, fingers tangled in the longish hair.

"Not… safe." Shinji were clinging to the couch now, sandwiched between the rough, dirty fabric and the equally rough and dirty man who was fucking him.

"Safe…" Asakura let go of Shinji’s hair, and the amused snort turned into a chuckle as he thrust inside once more. "Safe!" The notion was apparently hilarious, and the chuckle turned into a proper laugh. Not that it made him stop, not at all.

"Hey, stop laughing!" Shinji managed to get coherent enough between the thrusts to become indignant. "I demand that you stop laughing when you fuck me, it’s really creepy you know."

"I know." Scarred hands held Shinji’s hips in a secure grip, long, deep thrusts causing the journalist to writhe beneath him.

"You’re such an asshole," Shinji complained between the moans.

"But an honest one."

"Yeah…" Shinji had to admit that one, whatever his fault, Asakura was clear as crystal with what he wanted. Touch. Sensations. Whether it was a fight or sex didn’t seem to matter, just that there was something there to take his mind of whatever it was going on in that inscrutable head of his.

Shinji didn’t understand him more now than when they had first met in battle. He wasn’t even sure he liked him. But there was something here, between them that maybe he could turn into something less terrible. Maybe. Or maybe he was secretly as much of a horrible sleaze as the lawyer, and maybe Asakura was the only one that got it, and didn’t have any illusions about him that he’d have to live up to. Or maybe he was just a sucker for punishment, and this would all end horribly, and he was lying to himself that this was all because it was better that Asakura was fucking someone than killing someone, when the honest truth was that he liked it, liked it a little bit too much and it would be terribly easy to fall deeper into this, like off a bike, or down a cliff.

Falling was easy. Landing was rough. Asakura emptied himself inside Shinji with a long, shuddering sigh, draping his heavy body over both man and couch.

"Damnit! Don’t stop." Shinji could feel the heat inside him fading as Asakura slid out, leaving him breathless and far too close to coming. Close. Not there.

"It’s your own damn fault for taking so long to get winded up." Asakura stood and stretched, tucking himself away with careless abandon, giving Shinji a teasing slap on his ass.

"You are not the one getting ground into an old couch that smells like mold!"

"Damn right I’m not."

"You’re a horrible person." Oh Shinji knew he was pouting now, but he had cause damnit. He was still achingly hard and Asakura was looking smug and far too hot.

"Trying to turn me on again?" The taller man flopped down on the couch, lounging in boneless relaxation.

"Is it working?" Shinji asked hopefully.

"Come here." Asakura beckoned, and the moment that Shinji got close enough he found himself pulled down into the man’s lap. He managed to get out a squeak of protest before he realized that he didn’t want to protest at all, that he rather liked being pulled back against Asakura’s chest, feeling his breath hot against one ear as he whispered "Try touching yourself."

"But…" Shinji protested weakly, because sitting like this with his back against Asakura’s chest, his legs spread on either side of the taller man’s, which was… "Augh, you are horrible and this is embarrassing…" and far too hot. His cock bobbed a little, abandoned as it was.

"More embarrassing than my cum leaking out of your ass?" Of course Asakura wouldn’t reach out and jerk him off; he was busy being a jerk and run one hand up and down Shinji’s stomach while the other had wrapped the journalist in a secure grip.

"Shut up!" Shinji felt himself blushing crimson, but despite himself he wrapped his hand around his cock. It was not as if Asakura would ever take pity on him. He never did.

Still, it was awkward knowing someone was watching. Knowing someone was enjoying this, it made him feel far too self-conscious. When they made… no, when they fucked, Shinji didn’t think they had ever made love, well, anyway then Asakura was normally as busy as he was. So it was easier to ignore the predatory way he was watched. Not so now. Especially not with the chuckle he could feel rumbling through the chest he was leaning against.

"Damn, you’re as bad at jerking off as you are at fighting."

"I thought you said I was good at fighting?" Oh that had stung more than Shinji liked to admit, it wasn’t that he was going around like Ren pretending that was the most important thing, but he had given Asakura a run for his money… at least before the other rider learned the ins and outs of his gear.

"In the mirror world," Asakura acknowledged with a pinch of Shinji’s nipple that made the journalist press back against him. "Out here you’re shit."

"Thanks a lot." Shinji couldn’t keep the annoyed whine out of his voice, his breath catching as he felt his nipple being caught between two rough fingers, quickening his pace in response. "I’m just not used to people watching."

"You’d think that me watching would be the least kinky shit we’ve been up to." Asakura sounded almost thoughtful, one of those rare moments after sex or after a fight when he could think clearly, without distractions.

"Shut up." Shinji closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his hand, on the feel of the man behind him, on…

"I’m gonna have cum stains on my pants, you know."

"Shut up," Shinji complained, but he was so close now, so close…

"Gonna have stains on my pants the next time I meet your boyfriend…" as always there was a tone of derision when he spoke about Ren "… and then I’m gonna tell him all about how I got them."

"You…" Shinji couldn’t finish finding the perfect insult because the orgasm he had been chasing caught up to him first, reducing him to a puddle and a moan of relief in Asakura’s arms. He didn’t even mind the nasty laugh, not when he could just lean back and pretend that he wasn’t happy, that his heart wasn’t beating hard enough to hurt in his chest.

"Liked that, did you?" Asakura’s voice, darkly amused as he ran his rough fingers up and down Shinji’s chest.

"….asshole…" Shinji continued once he had caught his breath. "You are such an asshole." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But fine. I will wash your bloody pants."

The fingers on his chest didn’t cease their caresses, so Shinji supposed that it had been the right thing to say. Maybe this time they would have more than half an hour of peace between them before Asakura’s restless energy rose to the surface once more.

Maybe. He was the eternal optimist after all.


	3. Laundry Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between #23 and #26, when Shinji is trying to change Asakura.

There was a small washing machine in the basement of the tea shop, mostly used for towels and table cloths. Since the two men moved in, it had seen a lot more use. So Ren wasn’t surprised to hear it running, nor was he surprised to see Kido sitting at the cellar stairs, watching the machine as it if had been a television set. What he was surprised at was the look that Kido gave him as he popped his head through the door, half afraid, half guilty. Neither of them good signs.

"What are you doing?" Ren leaned against the doorjamb as Shinji got to his feet, ruffling up like an annoyed rooster. It didn’t succeed in making him any bigger though.

"Laundry of course. Why do you even ask such stupid questions?" He jutted his chin up, glaring at Ren though the height difference was even worse since he was standing a few steps below.

"Afraid it’s going to run away from you?" The tea shop was closed on Sundays, and usually everybody was off doing their own thing. He had only returned to see if Yui was back yet.

"Don’t try to be funny," Kido said with a pout. "You’re really not good at it. Now go, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere? Like not here?"

"I suppose so…" But Ren found himself hesitating. "Are you doing my stuff again too?"

"Maybe." Kido looked away, the shifting of his head exposing the bruise on his neck. Bruise? Bite mark?

"Hey." Ren reached out before he could think, Kido’s shoulder tensing a little under his hand. Just for a moment. Then it relaxed as the reporter let out a soft little sigh and looked back up. Ren found himself flushing lightly, but steeled his face into a glare and didn’t pull back.

"What?" Kido stared him down with a look of… was it guilt on his face? That didn’t make sense.

"Just stay out of my clothes." Ren found himself echo Kido’s pout. "You don’t know how to deal with leather."

"Oh crap!" Kido’s face flushed, and he yanked himself loose to rush over to the washing machine. "Crap, crap, crap!" He fumbled over the dials, trying to figure out how to turn it off ahead of time.

"You didn’t…" Ren didn’t bother to hide the groan as he leaned past the frantic journalist to turn the right dial. The machine quieted down, leaving the cellar in awkward quiet.

Neither of them moved. Kido’s hand had settled next to Ren’s on the dial. Their bodies were pressed together in the cramped space. Kido was short. His hair smelled clean. He must have showered recently. Crap. Ren chided his brain for echoing Kido, but it was an apt expression. Since when had he noticed what the other man had smelled like? Since…

… since the time when Kido had thought he had killed Zolda. Since the time when he had been in tears, beside himself and Ren had realized that the journalism had meant all the garbage he had spouted about not killing anybody. He had held the crying man tightly, trying not to feel awkward, no, trying to figure out what he felt.

Frustration. That always came first and was a near constant state around Kido. Confusion had come quick on its heels, because he just could not picture Kido killing someone. Except that the journalist clearly did not share that belief, crying into his shoulder as he was. The anger was a surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. Nor the tenderness welling up that he had tried to ignore ever since.

It had got him to prove to Kido that Kitaoka had been playing him for a chump, and that he hadn’t killed anyone, feeling strangely content when Kido broke down in tears of relief.

It had caused him to hesitate in battle a week or two later. It had caused him not to kill Gai when he had the chance. He should have done it. Everybody knew the game. There could only be one survivor. And yet… he couldn’t.

He had kept seeing Kido’s face.

But that didn’t change anything. The Rider battle was still raging. There were still people out there who would kill him if they got the chance. And kill Kido.

And so he had helped Asakura escape the police. Not to get an ally. But to get someone that wouldn’t hesitate like he had. Someone who disliked Kitaoka even, a small stab back at the man. If Asakura would thin the herd, then when the end came, Ren was sure he could take him down.

And by then Kido would be dead.

There was no way he could live through the war, not while staying a pacifist, and by now Ren was convinced the journalist would rather die than take a life. So at the end, Kido would be dead, and Eri would be alive, and he would deal with that reality somehow. Or Ren himself would be dead, and Eri would slowly fade away in the hospital, and… who would be the winner? Asakura? Someone else? It didn’t really matter. There were no happy endings here for either of them.

No futures to look forward to. Who else would risk their lives to actually gain one?

Why Kido had accepted the offer he would never understand.

“Uh… Ren…” Kido shifted a little, voice strangely hushed. “I can handle this.”

“Just let me get my clothes…” Ren shoved the journalist to the side, letting his frustration to the surface because that was easier, and because Kido had probably ruined another pair of…

… snakeskin pants. They were wet and limp in his hands for a moment, before they were snatched away and hidden.

“Crap. Crap, crap crap.” Kido’s words, but Ren’s mind echoed them willingly.

Asakura’s clothes. The smugness of the other Rider last time they fought. The bitemark to be added to an assortment of other bruises he had spotted while the other man stripped down for bed. Not that he had looked. Or pretended to be asleep.

Ren couldn’t pick out what Kido was shouting after him over the thundering in his ears, not when he was already halfway up the stairs. Halfway out the door.

On his bike.

Asakura….


	4. Scratching an itch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between #23 and #26, when Shinji is trying to change Asakura.

It starts with an itch.

Not that Asakura would ever bother to describe what it felt like. Putting things into words? Not his thing.  
   Thinking.  
        Planning.  
  That was when the itching started, when the walls came crawling closer and when everything went on his nerves.  
 Itching palms, the sensation moving through his veins. Blood like carbonated soda. Skin feeling tingly and strangely numb. Too aware. Of sweat. Of the taste of his own mouth. Of teeth and the way his tongue scraped them. Of the way his nails felt when he pressed them into his palms.

     He doesn't fit within his own skin.  
His body is too loud.  
       The world is too distant. Unreal in comparison.

  It shifts into focus when he punches it.

The impact travels up his arm, the pain stinging sharp and true. The tree doesn't react. Doesn't even shiver. He has to get out of the house. Maybe get back into town. Maybe find a fight. Someone. Something.

The sound of an engine snaps him back into focus. A bike. Akiyama's bike.

The grin flows to his face, as familiar as blood as he steps out into the road, causing the bike to skid to a halt.

"Looks like the fun is here." He bashes his knuckles together in anticipation.

The black-clad Rider moves with stiff grace and there is a moment's pause as Akiyama removes his helmet, face grim. "Asakura..."

The words are half-growled, and Asakura can feel his own voice lower in return. "Looks like I strike lucky twice today."

"Stay away from Kido." A step forward. Akiyama's boot scraping the gravel. A hint of hesitation. Hand not going for the deck in his pocket. Interesting.

"Not likely." Asakura sauntered forward, arms held out to invite an attack. A challenge. Fun. Bared teeth. "Besides, he keeps showing up on my doorstep."

_He didn't understand why that was, not that it bothered him much. Kido had showed up the first time, wanting to fight. Wanting revenge. For someone. Raia probably. Wanting something Asakura couldn't be bothered to understand. They had fought. A good fight really. Enough to slam them both back out into the real world, adrenaline and blood and bruises making him feel giddy and he had been laying laughing on the ground while Kido was saying that he should hate him. Asakura hadn't bothered to listen to the confession. Something about him being a terrible person, and Ren having a girlfriend and that she would die if Ren didn't win or something like that._

_The blow had made him react though, getting to his feet so he could shove Kido up against the concrete wall because in the real world he was not really any threat. Short. Bleeding. Sweaty. Hair tangled in his eyes. Eyes that glared up at him with... hate?_

_Hate. Kido had been talking about that. Asakura had never really hated anything. Been annoyed. Vexed. The world wasn't real enough to be hated, or loved. It was just a frustration he had to deal with. Cobwebs to tear his way through. But that look of hate... it was not bad. Nice even. Did Kido hate him or hate himself? Or both?_

_The kiss had tasted like blood._

"You're using him." Akiyama's words were angry, and the blow fast enough that Asukara didn't parry it fast enough, lost in memories of heat.

"That's funny." The laughter came unbidden.

The taste of blood again. His knuckles felt good against Akiyama's chest.  
     Solid blows.  
  Solid muscle under there.  
No need for the mirror world between them, they were used to this.

"You're the only one laughing." True, Akiyama was looking grim like the ruins that surrounded them.

But neither was he backing down. Which was all that Asakura could ask for.  
   The brush of knuckles against his cheek as he twisted his head out of the way.  
   The pained exhalation as he buried in elbow in Akiyama's ribs.  
         Close.  
    So close.  
Close enough to share breaths.  
         Share blood.  
  Slick black leather silky and real in his hand as he grabs the coat and yanks, sending Akiyama stumbling.  
         Not falling.  
  Down on one knee, then back up and a shoulder in his stomach, and it's hard to know where he ends and the other man begins.  
              Flowing.  
  Fist to shoulder, knee to thigh, and finally a few feet of distance between them, enough to suck in a long breath and shake the tenseness of pain from his arms.

"You asked me to defeat him because he was in your way." Asakura flexes his bruised hand. "Regretting that?"

"Stay away from him." Out of breath. Akiyama's left arm was dangling. A real injury or a feint?

"You can keep me company instead." The right arm flew up to deflect as Asakura rushed forward. A real injury then. A quick grab yanked Akiyama close, close enough for an almost kiss, ending in a headbutt, both of them stumbling back from the impact.

"Shut up." Akiyama spat a gob of blood on the ground, shaking his head hard to regain his focus.

"Jealous? You should be. Your boyfriend's more of a lover than a fighter." Blood in his eye. His forehead was bleeding. He wiped it off, then licked his hand. Salty.

"Shut up. He's not..." But there was a hitch in Akiyama's voice, a hesitation.

"Not your boyfriend?" Asakura blinked again. His eye stung. "You're missing out then." So that was what it was. He could have laughed, and he did so because no wonder the little journalist were willing to come to him to get his itch scratched.

He didn't stop laughing when Akiyama pulled out his Rider deck, eyes as black as his coat, holding it up against the mirror of his bike. He just pulled out his own in return, feeling the familiar quickening of his breath as the belt snaked out and surrounded him.

Time to get serious.


	5. It's Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between #23 and #26, when Shinji is trying to change Asakura.

It was a small miracle that Ren hadn’t crashed the bike getting back to the cafe, Shinji thought to himself, but on the other hand maybe he had. Maybe some of the bruises that dotted his skin came from that, and it was nicer to imagine an accident than a fight. Especially one with Asakura.

"This is ridiculous. I see blood! Get your shirt off." Shinji tugged at Ren’s dusty, black t-shirt, getting an annoyed look in return, but the pained gasp made him continue to insist until the taller man had peeled it off where he was sitting on a chair in the empty cafe.

"You’re such a worrywart." Ren’s voice was hardly more than a grumbled sigh, but he seemed to have resigned himself to Shinji’s ministrations. Maybe it just hurt more to protest.

"You didn’t have to run off and go fight him, you know?" Shinji cleaned the scrapes with the wet cloth, glad that most of it just seemed to be bruises and nothing worse. Still, it was obvious that it hurt. Especially the arm that Ren kept protecting. Served him right, butting into what was not any of his business.  
"You should stay away from him. I thought Tezuka’s fate had taught you something."

Shinji felt his hands still, the wet cloth dripping on the floor. There had been anger in Ren’s voice. Pain. That was the only reason he wasn’t just throwing his arms up in frustration. He was trying to be a better man after all. And Ren was an asshole, but he was also hurt.

"Tezuka changed his fate," he finally settled for saying, keeping his voice light, but his hands were rough when he cleaned the scrapes on Ren’s back. Harder than he should. Hard enough to make Ren suck back a curse.

"He’ll kill you one day." Still anger there, which was better than indifference.

"Maybe," Shinji admitted with a frustrated little huff, trying not to get his cheeks to colour. "But I can’t just keep pretending everything will be fine if I do nothing."

He knew it was stupid to try to change Asakura. The man was exactly who he was, and who he was wasn’t very pleasant. Shinji couldn’t really defend what he was doing, even to himself. It was all tied up in a knot of want and angst that he didn’t even dare to try to untangle. All he knew was that his plans had backfired magnificently; it wasn’t as if he had been going out there with the intent to get laid, and he really wished that Ren hadn’t figured it out what was going on. Or had gone out and tried to be a hero or something. That was like the opposite of helpful. He was trying to stop the fighting. Not instigate more.

"I still can’t believe…" Ren broke off with an annoyed curse as Shinji swabbed some of the scrapes on his back with disinfectant. "With Asakura…"

"It’s not like I planned this." Maybe it was mean to take pleasure in making Ren wince, but it was better than feeling awkward. "I mean I… it’s complicated."

It really was. Shinji had no idea anymore. Tezuka… had most likely had a crush on him. That he knew. Even if nothing ever happened. There was a dead piano-playing boyfriend and a very much alive Ren standing in the way. Shinji had felt so guilty about that. The way that Tezuka went out of his way to keep Ren safe at first, making sure he didn’t meet the fate he had foreseen. And then he did the same for Shinji. It wasn’t fair. Shinji wasn’t sure that he could have done it. Die for someone. For something. Tezuka was more of a man than he could ever be, but… he was also gone. Dead.

Dead.

"Kido?" Ren’s voice had softened, and Shinji realized that he had been quiet for a while which probably unnerved the dark Rider. It didn’t happen that often after all.

"I’m fine," Shinji assured, nodding vigorously. "You’re the one with all the bruises. From the look, he will kill you before me, so you should just shut up and worry about yourself. You gotta win this for your girlfriend, right?"

That knowledge had hurt. It still hurt. Shinji wasn’t sure what he had figured when he saw the rings, that maybe someone had died, a memento of lost love. It wasn’t as if he had ever thought that Ren might reciprocate some of his feelings, but between the rivalry and antagonism he thought he had begun to pick up… signs. And then he learned about Eri and those signs were obviously just pipe dreams because he was a naive idiot. And Ren was doing all this for his girlfriend. Which was so sweet, and kind of crazy, but it hadn’t helped with the weakness in his knees every time they brushed close, nor with the memories of the few nights they had slept together. Just slept. With clothes. But still…

"Kido, what is it?" Ren was looking at him now, face twisted in an unusual show of concern.

Shinji reached up and touched his face, realizing that the wetness on his cheeks hadn’t been imagined.

"Shut up." Shinji grabbed Ren’s chin with frustrated force, bending up his face so he could clean the jagged cut on his cheek. "I’m right, aren’t I?"

Ren stoically accepted the rough treatment until Shinji had placed the band-aid over the cut. Only then did he push himself to his feet. Shinji stepped back, still brandishing the disinfectant. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

"It’s my fault…" Ren spoke first, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there, and yet he lingered. "I never said I was a good man."

"Good." Shinji nodded vigorously. "Because you’re kind of an asshole."

"I don’t need friends. I need to win this. I have to. To save her." There was a desperate insistence in Ren’s voice as he reached out and brushed his thumb against Shinji’s neck, just over the bruise that Asakura had left.

"I know. You told me." And Shinji wished he hadn’t. "And if you do, I’ll be dead."

"And if I don’t, I will be. And so will she." Ren started to turn away. Like he had so many times before.

Again.

Shinji was so tired of this. Tezuka had died to change this. He didn’t want this miserable future, if these were the rules, then they had to change the rules. And if they couldn’t… then it was even stupider to hesitate, because then this was all they had. This. Here and now. And Ren would never do anything about it, because the taller Rider could pick a fight and throw a punch but this… in the face of this he froze up.

Even if Shinji had to rise on his toes to kiss him, Ren was the one that stumbled back. Sat down on the chair again with a slightly stunned expression on his face.

"Now you listen to me." Shinji was speaking fast and loud, words tripping over each other as if their very weight could keep Ren in his seat and not escape out the door. "Stop this. Stop being miserable. Stop feeling guilty. Yes we all know this his horrible, and Shirou is a bigger ass than any of us, but we’re going to change the game, we have to. Tezuka started and I am not going to let him die in vain. And I don’t care that you have a girlfriend, and I want her to wake up, I really do, but chances are things won’t work out and I don’t want to not do this."

"Do what? Kiss me?" Ren looked like he wasn’t sure what he should feel, but he wasn’t moving. "I’m a horrible person."

"I’ve kissed horrible persons before," Shinji assured, before realizing that might not be the smartest thing to say. "What I mean is that I’ve wanted to kiss you since I tried to chase you down on the bike."

"Maybe I would have stopped if you hadn’t shouted ‘Ron’", Ren said with a serious expression.

"Okay, so I wanted to kiss you before I really knew your name, but that’s not my point. Or, exactly my point. And I thought that maybe you were a bit of an arse, but you actually moved in here, and you slept in my bed, and what is up with that? Am I stupid? Am I imagining things? Are you really here because I owe you money?" Shinji knew he was ranting now, because Ren was giving him the look, but this time there was something else there too.

"You do owe me money." But this time the words were softer, the relief in the voice obvious. "And you are stupid. And easily excitable. And a bit irritating." Ren counted off things on his fingers, pausing when Shinji huffed himself up to argue. "But you’re not imagining things."

"I’m a journalist." Shinji crossed his arms over his chest. "I’m good at noticing things."

"If you say so." Ren looked doubtful

"I do say so." Shinji leaned closer, insisting.

The kiss was still a surprise.


	6. One Time Too Many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a request flashback, taking place sometime before chapter two (And the walls come tumbling down) episode 23.

_Tongues. There were always tongues when kissing. No chaste pecks, just desperate devouring and teeth that left his lips sore and his gut wanting more._

One time too many.

Those were the words running through Shinji’s head. Eventually there would be one time too many.

_Bites. Bite marks. Some on his neck, most on his shoulders, moving down as if testing the waters. Testing for pain. Testing for protests and finding none._

Asakura was not safe.

But then again, neither was the rider battle, and he might be imagining things but there was something here that wasn’t just sex.

_Fingers. Rough fingers. Calloused palms. Scarred knuckles. Shinji had sucked those fingers. Kissed those knuckles in an unguarded moment, giving them both pause before they continued divesting themselves of their clothes._

No. Scratch that. This was entirely about sex.

_Sweat. It wasn’t like they ended up in bed after a shower, or really, there weren’t any beds involved at all. They fucked after fights, covered in bruises and sweat, Shinji still high on adrenaline and Asakura not wanting to come down. Sometimes they had fought mirror monsters. Sometimes they had fought each other. Sometimes it was one turning into the other. It all ended the same way._

It was like being back in school, except this time you actually got to have the sex and not just sit thinking about it in class. Watching guys. Watching guys watching girls. Listening to guys talking about girls and for a moment wishing they would talk about you except that would probably not end well.

Neither would this.

_Wild. Asakura fucked like he fought, no holds barred and with no respect for either himself or his opponent. Maybe he had been surprised that Shinji could keep up, but he hid that surprise well. Just a raised eyebrow to Shinji’s pouted challenge, and maybe this wasn’t healthy but it was fun._

And for a moment there, Shinji felt hot. Sexy even. Just like the Rider Deck had made him feel competent. Almost a hero. Except heroes didn’t do this he supposed. But Ren had a girlfriend and probably didn’t even think of him like this and Asakura did.

_Words. When they spoke it was complaints and snark, groaned suggestions and annoyed demands. They spoke like they fought, as equal on that battlefield as in the mirror world._

He still saved people. Even if he was terribly bad at saving himself.

_Rough. Lube and condoms were a luxury that he could sometimes coax Asakura into, but sometimes he didn’t insist too much. Maybe it was self-destructive. Maybe he was being stupid. But ground down in the gravel with his legs on Asakura’s shoulders he found it increasingly hard to care._

Did he need saving?

_Stillness. There was a moment afterwards when neither of them needed to say anything. Just collect themselves. Catch their breaths. Count their bruises. Find their clothes._

Did Asakura?

_A distant look. Sometimes Shinji asked. Most of the time he just sat down next to the other rider, leaning against him for a little while. It was the only time Asakura stayed still enough to do something like that._

Maybe not.


	7. Not important

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the other side of the last flashback, fitting some time before And the walls come tumbling down. Next chapter will be back on track with the story.

He could take a punch.

_Helmeted face showing nothing, red leather covered in dust, rolling backwards in the gravel until he found his feet, hands up and ready. Asakura found himself laughing in his own helmet, the faint barrier between him and the caustic mirror world feeling as fragile as glass._

And he could dish them out.

_Especially the dragon. Maybe he should try to make a contract with it once the journalist was dead. Nothing to stop him then, because that dragon HURT, and that kick when Ryuki had been catapulted into him had almost broken ribs._

It was all good.

_The kicks. The punches. Even the fucking dragon. And the sex. It wasn’t like the journalist was any use in a fight outside his armour, but this was also good. Not better. Not even as good. Just enough. A distraction. A distraction who didn’t mind being one. Who came back again and again with his stupid arguments that just ended in this._

It was all bad.

_Digging his fingers into bony hips. Bruises. Complaints, but there was always those, whine, whine and in the end he begged for more anyway. Narrow hips. Women were softer, but he didn’t care much. They felt the same inside. They felt the same under him. Struggling. Gasping. As if it was a fight. Sometimes it was._

And he kept coming back.

_That was a surprise. He had figured the journalist would be too ashamed to. Too afraid to. But he kept coming back, and he kept getting fucked, and somehow Asakura found himself not minding. Not the sex. Not the challenge. Not minding the company. It was rare that happened. Rarer still people didn’t mind him. Nobody had kept coming back this long._

Kept keeping up.

_Probably exploring. Himself maybe. Asakura could recognize someone who needed to vent their frustrations a mile off. Fights were more fun if two were fighting. Sex was more fun if two were fucking. Even if he technically just needed a hole, Shinji wouldn’t shut up. No, the journalist, because why the hell should he bother thinking about his name._

This wasn’t important.

_Nothing was. Not the world. Not his life. Not what he did. Nothing really mattered, except that for a few minutes at least he wasn’t so damn bored. For a few minutes all that mattered was burying himself deeper. Harder. Watching those expressive eyes widen at the bites as bruises bloomed._

The journalist certainly wasn’t.

_Replaceable. Especially since he wouldn’t shut up unless he made him. A hand around his throat. Squeezing a little. Watching the fear. And more than fear, watching the challenge. The one that said that he might be afraid, but he wasn’t going anywhere. That gasped for air and clung to him like he’d been his saviour._

Nothing could be further from the truth.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short flashback set during ep20, when Ren helped Asakura escape the cops, but before they fake his death. Might be considered dub-con.

The stolen car was parked well off the main road, hidden from view. Ren still kept a cautious eye on the road in case someone would show up. They had lost the cops a while back, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before they decided to start searching the area more thoroughly. Not that it should bother him, as a Rider it was an easy enough thing to step into the mirror world until they passed, but it was an annoyance. It was not as if the manhunt for Asakura would stop any time soon. He had escaped prison. He had taken hostages.

He was a rider.

"Plan to tell me why you bothered?" Asakura was lounging on the hood of the car, splayed out in the sun like a snake seeking to warm up. With no shirt under the snakeskin jacket, it was understandable. Ren felt a chill even under his coat.

"Why do you care?" Ren looked back at the other rider, then back at the road. He didn’t entirely dare turn his back on the escaped prisoner, he knew people like this. In a way, he was a person like this. Or had been. Before Eri.

"I don’t." The shrug was lazy, and the hood protested as the tall Rider stretched a little, leather scraping against metal. "Just curious about your angle. Riders are supposed to be enemies, or so I was told."

"We are." There was no room for doubts in Ren’s voice. They were enemies. Only one could win, no matter what Kido thought. The idiot journalist might have ideas that maybe there was some other way but there wasn’t.

Maybe that was why he was cold. Because it was the truth, wasn’t it? Kido needed to die. And he… did not want to do it. But that didn’t change facts. And someone like Asakura… Maybe the blood didn’t have to be on his hands. Setting the snake loose in the battle meant that he could step back. Wait for things to resolve themselves and then pick up the pieces.

He had never been a patient man, but he needed to be patient now.

"Fuck, I’m bored. Wanna fight?" Asakura slid off the hood, cracking his knuckles. "It will pass the time."

"I’m not here to fight you." But Ren had turned around now, slowly circling the other Rider because Asakura wore a smile that was far too dangerous.

"Don’t give me that crap." The swing was fast, but Ren jumped back in time, hands up in guard position. "See," Asakura continued with a laugh. "You wanna blow off some steam as much as I do."

It was true. Ren couldn’t deny that. He wanted to fight, wanted to stop thinking. He wasn’t good at it; conflict had always come easier than plans. Eri changed that, changed him, but it was just skin deep. Inside, he was the same, and he felt himself slip back the longer she lay comatose in the hospital. No. It wasn’t that he was slipping; it was that he let himself fall. Needed to fall. The Ren that she had made him into couldn’t save her any more than Kido could. There was just one path left, and to walk that one he needed to be who he was, deep down. The one Asakura recognized. The one he was challenging. But to take the fight here and now would mean ruining the reason he had helped Asakura get away.

"I won’t fight you… yet." Ren parried another blow, retreating a few steps back towards the car.

"How about fucking me then?"

…

They had fought. Of course. After that comment it wasn’t like Ren had a choice. And yet, somewhere in the dust and the bruises and the skinned knuckles, Asakura had pushed him up against the car and kissed him.

Ren had kissed back.

And then things had spiralled out of control.

It wasn’t like Ren hadn’t fucked a guy before. Things happened when you lived the life he had, you got drunk, got propositioned and ended up in a bathroom with the wrong guy and nobody spoke about it afterwards. Because these things happened. Occasionally. Most of the time with women. Asakura was definitely not a woman (and neither was Kido, but he wanted to shut his brain up about him). Maybe that was it. Maybe this was an exorcism in more ways than one, getting all of his frustrations out on someone he didn’t care one bit about.

This was just venting.

It didn’t matter that his were the hands that tore Asakura’s snakeskin coat open and that he was the one running his tongue over the bare chest underneath. It didn’t matter that large hands tried to grab his hair and force him lower, but failed because his hair was too short for such a grip. It certainly didn’t matter that Asakura pushed him back instead, hard enough that he lost his balance. It didn’t even matter that the other man followed up by tackling him to the ground, straddling him as he he leaned down for another kiss.

Ren bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and got a fist in the face in return.

Things grew a little blurry there, but it was alright, because in a way he really deserved this. Maybe even wanted this. Maybe it was penance. He was planning to take this man and send him against Kido. Was planning to set him loose and help him get the cops off his track so he could kill the people Ren couldn’t bring himself to harm. It was wrong. It was horrible. But the world was horrible, and certain things you couldn’t change, you could just try to forget about them.

Asakura was good at that. Making him forget. Making him unsure whether this was a fight, or whether it was sex. Maybe both. His coat had been pulled down so he shrugged it off to get his hands free, sucking back a grunt as Asakura fumbled with his belt. This was wrong. And he wanted it. No. Fuck. He needed it. He’d been walking in limbo since Eri got hurt, and this was meaningless and horrible, just like the world. Just like Asakura’s hand around his cock, too rough, too careless and fuck but he needed this.

Even if it meant cheating on the woman he loved. Even if it meant trying to forget Kido’s accusing face. Even if it meant putting an elbow in Asakura’s ribs to make him roll off.

Maybe they were fighting after all. Because neither of them had any use for words. And they both wanted this, but the question was how. And where. Who would get the upper hand. Ren had counted on it to be him, but… it didn’t turn out that way. It wasn’t like he hadn’t lost fights before. And maybe it was the same now as it had been then. It had been the wrong fight. With the wrong person. In over his head. And maybe it had been the same way then as it was now. That deep down he had felt that maybe he deserved it. Deserved to lose for being an idiot.

Deserved to be pushed up against the car. Deserved to have a tongue licking the blood off his ear. Deserved to have a knee shoved between his legs as he was bent over.

He was planning to have Shinji Kido killed.

It was really no use arguing. Ren knew that. He deserved everything he got.


End file.
